First Light of a Sparkler
by solelessboots
Summary: Naomi returns to her hometown after a decade and meets a special friend from her childhood.


**A/N: This story is an incomplete one-shot I've intended for my other story, Untitled. I'm stuck in some kind of writer's block so I've decided to publish the first half of the story here and get some feedback on it. This will be deleted if I finish the second half of the story. I'll publish the full story as the third chapter of my fanfic [Untitled].**

* * *

I steal a sideway glance at the girl linked in my arm, watching her beautiful brown eyes dart shyly to the carpeted floor as the people around us stood up in applause. I gently stop us and tuck a loose strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear. She looks at me intently, her expression somewhat afraid and nervous.

I don't think I've ever doubted that the girl I'm walking down the aisle with right now is the most beautiful girl I've laid eyes on. But this day, in her stunning white gown with the little veil over her head, I swear she looks exactly like an angel, her delicate features strikingly gorgeous in the natural light shining through the church's glass windows. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze as she bites her bottom lip tentatively and her fingers start to jerk slightly. The crowd intimidates her. I mouth the words over the clamor of the crowd. _Don't worry, I'm here_.

She erupts into a smile that makes my heart glow furiously, like the first blinding light of a hand-held sparkler.

Her smile never fails to do that to me.

* * *

_A month ago_

It's been a decade since I've been back in Marlborough. You know what they say about the place you spent your childhood in; no matter how long and how far away you have been, you will always feel warm and at home when you return. After all, it's the place you first learnt to ride a bicycle; attended your first school; bought groceries at the supermarket on your own for the first time. I'm not so sure if I feel that way though. Much of the town's changed so much since the last time I've been around I don't recognise it anymore. The town feels alien, or worse, precisely because I don't feel the connection I ought to feel with it.

As I drive through the streets lined with piles of snow at the sides, I mouth the names on the road signs that ring a distant bell in my head. I keep count of the number of old shops that I remember from childhood. Benson's… Mrs Cook's Laundry… There are pathetically few that I can still identify. By the time I get to our old house standing right at the end of the street, they numbered a grand total of… four.

I sigh and smile quietly to myself as I switch off the ignition and step out of the car, looking up at the two-storey, snow-covered structure in front of me. At least there's still something in this town that I feel for. Our house looks exactly like the way we've left it ten years ago. Perhaps a tad shabbier with the peeling whitewash on the façade. And a little neglected with the chaotic, overgrown weeds peering out of the snow-covered yard. But hey, look - My old bicycle is still leaning against the front door in one piece, next to our patio furniture, the wheels albeit completely deflated. No one has tried to steal anything in the last ten years, surprisingly.

Mom and Dad put up an offer on the house in the papers about a month ago. When we left Marlborough for London ten years before, they had intended to keep the house just in case we wanted to come back some day. A decade on, they decided to be honest with themselves. They weren't going to return to Marlborough any time soon, if ever at all. Two days after the offer was put up, there was an interested buyer and a week later, the deal was sealed. I was sent back here to settle the legal matters and the transferring of title deeds, because "the drive from London to Marlborough will positively kill them before half of the journey's even done," and I have "more experience in handling these stuffs", according to them. Oh well.

Evening time comes, I settle for a drink at Benson's. As usual, Benson's always packed, even during the Christmas season, when most people prefer to stay at home. To most people in the pub right now though, this place _is _home. Thank god the place still feels like how it was when I was thirteen, filled with gossipy housewives who love a good beer and rowdy, drunk workmen from the local factories hanging out after a hard day at work. I used to find those men sleazy and repulsive when I was young, but watching them now makes me feel strangely grateful for a rare sense of familiarity in this town where I supposedly grew up in.

As my fingers twirl the beer mug absent-mindedly, my eyes dart to the bar counter where a young man is wiping beer glasses dry with a cloth. My brows arch slightly in surprise when I recognise that he's Phil Jones, the only son of the pub's owner, Benson Jones. Phil used to be really scrawny and pimply back when we went to elementary school together. He was one of those timid, nerdy boys who was neither advantaged size-wise or had an EQ high enough to stay out of the way of the bigger boys, which was rather unfortunate in those days, when bullying was less recognised as a problem than as a part and parcel of growing up. I eye the man from where I sit by the window. Phil's changed a lot, still looking bookish in those black-rimmed spectacles of his, but judging from his biceps flexed from wiping the beer glasses, I reckon trouble has stayed out of his way for a long time now.

I turn my attention to the barmaids serving drinks around the smoky pub. I'm looking for a familiar face but she's not there. For a moment, I contemplate going up to Phil to casually ask about the girl I'm hoping to see, but I stop myself. It's kind of awkward to approach him especially when I think we haven't even spoken to each other before. Phil's like one of these people I always see in school and know the existence of but never bothered to talk to. And I, for one, am not someone who would go up to people from my past and act all chummy with them when in reality we were never close. It's hypocritical, and it's just not…me to do that.

I finish up my beer and stand up to go. That's when I saw a young lad weaving excitedly through the crowd towards me with a hint of recognition on his face. He's all smiles and cursory hugs as he shakes my hand and gives me a friendly punch in the arm for not staying in contact all these years. I smile awkwardly as I try to remember who he is. He asks what I'm doing back in Marlborough and what I've been up to. I answer absent-mindedly as I try even harder to remember his name. His face lights up when I say that I'm a lawyer based in London currently, and he immediately whips out a name-card from nowhere and hands it to me. Nelson. His name is Nelson! Nelson Gates. He's an insurance broker. Thank god for name cards.

After the initial anxiety of not remembering his name had worn off, I suddenly feel wary of Nelson's friendliness and enthusiasm. I don't remember being close to Nelson in elementary school, but that didn't seem to stop him from offering me an invitation to a Christmas Eve party cum annual elementary school reunion the following night and me from accepting his invitation with a huge smile. I guess working at one of the top law firms in London had trained me into a fake smile-plastering, hypocritical bitch after all.

* * *

I stumble out of the pub tipsily on my six-inch high heels, cursing as a wave of cold winter air comes slapping me in the face. The Christmas Eve party was horrible – superficial small talk throughout the night; people comparing cars and houses and incomes. It was like a contest for the haves to shove their trophies of success into the faces of the have-nots. I was well ignored for the first half of the hour being the unheard-of-for-years newcomer until Nelson took the liberty to announce to the rest I was working as a lawyer in London, sparking off a sudden display of interest in me. After an hour with those mercenary hypocrites, I had enough. I know it's sad to spend the night of Christmas Eve alone, but it's still not sad enough for me to put up with them for another hour till midnight.

I trudge down the streets freshly cleared of snow. There's not a car or soul around in sight, everyone's either at home celebrating with their families or hanging at a pub. I guess that's the difference between a little town like Marlborough and a city like London. On a regular summer night in Marlborough, everyone's indoors by ten. Whereas in London, there will be a great deal of buzz in the streets even on Christmas Eve midnight, with street performers in Leicester Square wanting to make the best out of the charitable Christmas vibe.

I vaguely hear a carol singing Silent Night in the distance. It makes me feel awfully lonely all of a sudden, roaming the empty streets of my hometown on the night of Christmas Eve by myself. I feel a sudden churn in my stomach and take to the side of the street, retching into the neat pile of snow that had been shoveled to the edge. I hold on to the streetlamp for support as I gasp for breath, feeling like someone has just stuck a hand down my throat and twisted my insides. Out of frustration, I kick a beer can on the ground, but then my six-inch heels get the better of me, like they always do. I scream as I felt a dreadful tear in the sides of my ankle, and before I know it, I'm flying onto a pile of snow some couple of metres away.

I must have been unconscious for two or three seconds, because the next moment I feel the prickly cold tingling on my skin as my exposed legs (damn those short skirts) come in contact with the snow, and someone is tapping me on my temples with a finger. No, prodding, to be precise. Someone is prodding my temple with a finger.

I roll over and blink at the silhouette hovering me against the orange glow of the streetlamp behind. A hand waves in my face in a large exaggerated action.

"You… alright?" The words come out slow and sluggish, enunciated like they take the speaker a lot of effort. The voice sounds like that of a child, despite the distinct husk in it.

I can't see her face at all, but the way the voice makes my heart leap like it did ten years ago tells me that I already know who it is.

"Emily?" My voice ventures shakily as I sit up on the show.

The figure seems to be thinking for a moment before dropping to her knees. Light is thrown on her face and I make out the cute little beanie she's wearing, her soft, hazel-brown eyes, her flushing cheeks puffing out pockets of air and the cute little button nose that scrunches up whenever she's up to mischief.

Her head tilts to the side as her eyes study my face intently. Seconds later, they reveal a hint of recognition and light up at once. She starts grinning like she found a pot of candy at the end of the rainbow. Her hands are flapping uncontrollably at her sides as she bounces up and down on her knees.

"Na-o-mi! Na-o-mi!" She squeaks out my name in the three-syllable way she always did in the past. I smile at the term of endearment as I sit there in the snow watching her. For a while, I forget the searing pain in my ankle. She seems to be distracted by something in the distance for a second there, but her gaze returns to me almost immediately. She is wearing a huge dorky grin on her face as she stares at me with expectant eyes.

Whoever said that "time heals all wounds" got it totally wrong. Time doesn't heal all wounds. It might heal some wounds, but there are the wounds that don't ever heal. What time does is drag a cloud of smoke over your eyes to distract you from the pain so that you gradually forget you hurt yourself. But sometimes all it takes is a really strong gust of wind to blow that cloud away and for you to see that the cut is still there, and yes, it still fucking hurts.

Like the strong gust of wind that just blew Emily back into my sight.

* * *

The first time I met Emily, I think I was walking past Big Bobby and gang playing football in the neighborhood field. Emily wanted to join one of the teams, but obviously they didn't let her, so she was running back and forth across the field following the ball. No one ever passed the ball to her. Still, she kept laughing and smiling while she was running, her arms flailing about wildly as she chased the ball in vain. It puzzled my ten year old self that she seemed to be enjoying herself even though she was nowhere near the ball. The kids playing looked a tad annoyed with her but they just treated as if she wasn't there as they continued the game. Then Big Bobby kicked one that was supposed to go straight into the net, but Emily happened to be in the way and it hit her and bounced off her shin instead. The other team broke out into victorious cheers and Emily, apparently oblivious to what was going on, cheered and laughed excitedly seeing everyone else was doing so. Big Bobby was fuming mad as he walked up to her and grabbed her violently by the collar of her T-shirt, startling the girl who was caught by surprise. "You fucking dimwit!" he yelled in her face and punched her across the cheek, the impact of the blow sending her flying face down onto the muddy field.

Emily clumsily picked herself up and watched in confusion as Big Bobby stomped off the field angrily with the rest of the children in tow. Moments later, the football field that had been filled with the boisterous noises of children playing just a while ago was silent and empty. Emily stood alone in the middle of the field, looking completely dazed. Her eyes are a look of dejection as she looked around at nothing in particular. Her face twitched slightly as her arm jerked uncontrollably upwards.

I know any other kid would have stayed away from a kid like Emily then, but somehow my ten-year-old heart went out to her at that moment. Her being different from the rest of us frightened me a little, but I knew that she wasn't a bad person, and she could really use a friend right then.

I walked up to her and she doesn't notice I'm near until she had turned her head in my direction. She tilted her head as she eyed me curiously. I smiled as I saw that her face still had mud stains all over. I pulled the hem of my shirt and wiped them off with it gently. She broke out into a huge smile upon my kind gesture.

"You…want to play… ball?" I spoke slowly and enunciate every word so that she would understand me.

She nodded excitedly as she sputtered out, "Yes!" with a huge grin on her face.

"Alright, let's see…" I eyed the field for a stray ball hopefully left behind by someone else, but there wasn't any. I hated to disappoint Emily when she was looking at me with those hopeful puppy-eyes, so in the end I just picked an empty drink can from the field. Sure it won't make a difference for her.

"Let's play with this…ok? You'll kick, and I'll be the goalie and defend the goal from you," I gestured to the drink can and spoke slowly again, almost sure that Emily had no idea what I was talking about anyway. One thing was clear, and that was she knew that the drink can had taken the place of the ball. Because right after I dropped it to the ground, she was already kicking it to somewhere else.

"Hey, that's cheating! The game's not started yet!" I yelled as I hurriedly ran to my goalpost.

Pretty soon, I found out that you don't play by the conventional rules when you play football (or drink can) with Emily. It turned out that she didn't care very much about getting the can inside the goal, the fun was in the kicking, and hell, did she know how to have fun just kicking the can. Eventually, I gave up my position as a goalie and tackled her for the ball/can, much to her exhilaration. She was shrieking and laughing excitedly as I pretended to steal the can from her, and she ended up grabbing the can with both her hands and running out of the field to get away from me. Talk about not playing by conventional rules.

We ended up standing in front of the local grocery store in the evening setting sun, sipping on ice cola. Well, I was sipping ice cola. Emily, on the other hand, had left her ice cola standing on the counter and was more fascinated by the lady wearing a feather hat who was paying for her groceries at the cashier. I almost choked on my cola as Emily reached out her hand and tried to pull one of the feathers out of the lady's hat. There was definitely shrieking as I stopped her before she could do so and dragged her away as fast as I could.

"You can't do that," I shouted a little exasperatedly. "It's not right. Not right."

Emily just stood there in silence and fidgeted as she looked down to the ground a little sadly. I don't think she even knew why she was in the wrong then, but that look was enough to make me forgive her and completely forget about scolding her. Hell, suddenly I felt like _I _was in the wrong.

"OK, look. I don't mean to yell at you," I said, feeling a little guilty. "Please don't look so sad? See, I've got a trick for you," I added, dishing an M&M chocolate from the packet I just bought from the store. I threw one into the air and caught it with my mouth. A smile broke out on Emily's face almost immediately.

"You like it eh? Look, again," I said, grinning as I threw yet another one into the air and popped it in my mouth. Emily was clapping her hands together gleefully as she watched me, her unique laughter escaping her in loud waves. She held out her hand to me, asking for one to try as well. I dropped one onto her palm and she threw it into the air and opened her mouth, but was far from catching it. The chocolate bounced off her face and landed on the grass. Emily bent over at once to pick it up, but I stopped her.

"Forget that, it's already dirty. Here, another one for you," I said as I popped another M&M chocolate onto her palm.

Emily tried three more times and still failed each time. She was still laughing hard anyway, thoroughly amused by the movement of the chocolates bouncing off her face. As I watched her, I couldn't help smiling. Emily's different than the rest of us, yet she's got so much goodness in her heart. Why doesn't anybody else see it? She doesn't deserve what Big Bobby did to her earlier and she definitely doesn't deserve the way the other kids are treating her just because she's different. It's so…unfair.

After four more tries, Emily finally caught an M&M with her mouth and started grabbing my hand and leaping about like a grinning bobcat. I laughed as I let her tug me here and there. Seeing her so happy made me feel like I was leaping on clouds as well. As Emily dragged me off to somewhere else, I gladly followed behind her without any questions. Because even though it was the first time I've met her, I felt as though I could already trust her with my heart.

* * *

**A/N: Thoughts? Feedback? Should I continue with this story? I welcome any review, good or bad, because that's kinda the point of me publishing the first half of the story first. **


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